


Filth

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hatred, M/M, Unease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swindle cleans himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filth

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't meant for any specific scenario, just mild canon divergence after Swindle escapes the Steelhaven.

“I hate him.”

Swindle scrubbed at his arm furiously, the steel mesh of his washcloth digging deep wells in the organic crust that covered his plating.

“I hate him so much.”

Sitting across the wash racks on a small overturned bucket, Lockdown tried to think of something he could respond with.

“He’s not that much worse than any o’ the others.”

Swindle laughed and then he spit.

“Don’t act like an idiot. You worked with him before, didn’t you? You know better than that.”

His hand shook faster, scraping away the dirt and grime. Lockdown had seen fear in his victims before, his stock as he went to collect them. He had seen panic, rage, all the fun stages of grief and then some. He was not used to personal interactions that had any emotional weight. Sure, he and Swindle had been fooling around for a while now, and things had gotten fairly intense in the heat of the moment, but that was all fluff and gambling. This was rawer than that.

“You know better,” Swindle was mumbling, gritting his dental grill, optic bright and glossy.

_You know better._

The scrubber was picking up flecks of paint.

“Yeah,” said Lockdown, unsure, “I guess I do.”

Moving down his arm, Swindle continued to clean himself.

“I just,” Swindle ground out, “I hate him so much, I want to kill him.”

He laughed.

“The thing is though,” he said, looking up finally, hand going still, “if you did kill him, someone like that, people would mourn him. People would show up at his funeral and say ‘oh, poor Sentinel, he was so strong and proud and nice, poor guy’, even though he was nothing more than a waling scrap heap when he was alive. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t deserve to be martyred. I hate him.”

“You sure hold grudges.”

Lockdown got up and walked across the room, finally, taking the scrubber from Swindle’s hand. Looking up at him with optics like knives, Swindle pursed his lips.

“So?”

“So,” said Lockdown, “let’s go get him.”

Swindle stared at him. Then he laughed again. It was a sound like no other, not the fake, rounded laugh he gave his customers, or the fake self-assured laugh he gave his more personal clients, or the fake smutty laugh he gave Lockdown half the time. It was a real laugh and it was cruel.

Lockdown realized he was in love.


End file.
